


Another Day, Another Dollar

by Dryad



Category: Aliens (1986)
Genre: AU, Gen, NC17, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 09:11:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2845682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dryad/pseuds/Dryad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in the field.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Day, Another Dollar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [diadelphous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/diadelphous/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide, Diadelphous!

" _Bishop!_ " screamed Vasquez, glancing over her shoulder while still raining death upon murderous silicates. Beyond Bishop, on the very edge of the circular platform, Drake was lobbing grenades into the heaving crowds below. Between herself and Drake, Bishop was ripping wires out of an old ground hopper's engines, ignoring the insane scene around them. "Get that fucking vehicle going before we we get swamped!"

"I'm trying, Private Vasquez!" he shouted back, not even sparing her a look as his hands shifted inhumanly quickly.

_Fuck_. She laid down another round of suppressing fire, grimacing as silicate fluids sprayed onto her bare forearms. Jesus _Christ_ she was going to have to start wearing long sleeved shirts if this shit kept up. Their oil was disgustingly warm, would have been better if it had been blood hot but no, warm and slippery like personal lubricant. Speaking of which - "Bishop, ETA?"

"Fifty-four seconds!"

Her shoulders were aching from the strain of holding the large gun upright. Bracing her foot against the broken pylon at her side, she shifted until she could lean a little bit more on her other foot. Looking quickly to the left, she noted the barriers on the ramp leading down onto the boulevard were still in one piece, though they were shivering from repeated blows by silicates on the other side. Speaking of which - she turned back to find one silicate speed-crawling over another's shoulders. Others picked up the idea and began to do the same until it looked like a carpet of spiders was moving towards her. Their metallic cross-hair eyes glinted in the pulse flashes of her weapon. God- _dammit!_ As if the fucking black clouds roiling above weren't making her feel like disaster was going to strike at any minute, now the silicates had seen their chance to get off world and were doing their best to achieve their goal.

Preferably over her dead body.

Vasquez heaved the gun up and shuffled backwards as fast as she could. She was stepping on body parts, mostly silicate, rolling and crunching underneath her feet, but others were spongy and even though she had no time to spare a thought on what she was stepping on, she was vaguely aware of being horrified. Nearly falling as her foot slid off something soft that rolled underneath the sole of her boot, she managed to recover and make her way to the hopper.

"They're coming!" yelled Drake. "I'm almost out!"

_Shit!_ Vasquez pumped a few grenades at the silicates in front of her, spat to get rid of the metallic flavor in her mouth. "Drake, get in!"

Bishop shouted, "It's ready!"

At that, she turned and jogged around the nose of the hopper as fast as she could, lurching to one side as she lost her balance on a trail of silicate slick. Regaining her footing, she ignore the flare of pain from her ankle and threw herself onto the floor of the hopper in the last burst of energy to get in, to get _safe_ , though that was clearly a fucking lie on Chu70-1D. Drake was ready at the door as she slid into the under-seat storage. He slammed the door shut, grabbed her arm and tossed her into the nearest seat. Bishop accelerated hard before she had a chance to strap in; she fell down again and sprawled on the floor, for a long moment unable to summon up the strength to do anything but gasp for breath.

"Come on!" yelled Drake, reaching for her as far as he could despite his own straps holding him tight to his seat. 

The hopper was at such an angle that it was difficult for Vasquez to get into the nearest seat. Once she was in, she slapped the belt closures closed. She wasn't going to release her weapon though, fuck that. Could be silicates clinging to the undercarriage for all she knew, and if she relaxed for one goddamned moment everything could be over. Gripping the gun even more tightly than before, she sat and breathed slowly, five for in, six for out, ten total for calm.

While she breathed she became aware of sound, the thrum of the engine, the vibration beneath her feet. Of smell; the rank odor of silicate fluids, the acrid stench of burned plastic, the deeply familiar scent of scorched plasteel, like a habitat's heater set on high and left on all night long. The scent of home. Below it she could smell herself, the bitterness of fear-soaked sweaty clothing, the yeasty odor rising from her boots - oh that was not going to be pretty, not at all. But hey, at least she wasn't going to have to disinfect the fuckers like Drake.

As if hearing her thoughts directly, he kicked her foot. Grinned when she gave him the hairy eyeball. Mad bastard. She wouldn't want to be with anyone else in the thick of it, though. On cue, the door to the cockpit slid open, Bishop looking in the mirror attached to the windscreen to see if they were all right.

"We're fine," she called. 

Across the aisle, Drake said, "Just us chickens, ain't nobody else."

A sobering thought. She hoped Apone and Frost had made it back to _Boreas_. No way to look out the damned window to see if there was any wreckage, though. "Bishop you hear anything upwell?"

"We're the last off," he said, twisting to look back at them. "Hudson and Hicks got Administrator Curran out before the silicates overran the building, but it looks like his family's gone."

"Motherfuckers," snarled Drake. He shook his head, mouth working.

Vasquez grimaced and shook her head in turn. "Don't spit on the deck, it's disgusting."

"You know you love it."

"I really, really don't."

"If I may interrupt," said Bishop over the intercom, closing the door again. "I hope you didn't leave anything personal downwell. We're putting a nuke on Weems City."

"Jesus _fuck_ ," breathed Drake.

Vasquez stared at him, equally wide-eyed. Nuking settlements wasn't SOP, but shit, silicates, what the fuck else were you supposed to do? Chu70-1D wasn't that small, either. It had a few thousand inhabitants…none of whom were ever going to make it off that rock. Sucked for their families on Earth and elsewhere, if they had any left, but they had all waived their rights, just like anyone did who worked for a Company. Or the Military.

"Another day, another dollar," said Drake, knocking his head against the back of his seat. He flicked a glance at her, then at the cockpit door. "So. You doin' the thing?"

"Maybe. You?"

"Dunno. Luhan's due to come aboard at Cromwell," he shrugged. "You ever thought about it?"

Vasquez blinked. "Luhan?"

"Naw, you and me," he jerked his chin up. 

She gave it the consideration it deserved, looked him up and down. He wasn't a bad guy, as Marines went. She liked him. Trusted him. "When we're old and decrepit."

He grinned, and so did she, because the likelihood of that happening was low. But fuck it, if they made it out alive, she would, just because. In the meantime, there was Bishop, because even though he was artificial, his fucking hands were a work of art.

"Vasquez, you too bad," said Drake, shaking his head, still grinning.

"Damn straight, son," she answered, starting to laugh.


End file.
